


Akt 3: Overture to Alternate Ideas

by merryfortune



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fakiru Week 2017, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryfortune/pseuds/merryfortune
Summary: Assorted one-shots inspired by the Fakiru Week 2017 prompts.





	1. Day 1 - Silver

  Everything was light, airy, and wondrously bright. Like a new dawn over a seemingly endless night, it was as though the world had been reborn right before Fakir’s eyes and as such, it all gleamed. It shone and shimmered; it honestly brought tears to his eyes.

  She walked out, slowly and gracefully. She smiled, demure, and as she saw him waiting for her, that small smile widened. Her eyes even became bigger; crinkling at the corners.He smiled back and straightened up. An uneasy breath pulled into his lungs as he became nervous. He fidgeted with his pale grey tie as he waited for her.

  Every step was wobbly, uncertain, but Ahiru continued on. Lilies brushed up against her arms as her trail brushed over the Church carpet. She inhaled deeply and fell in love once more with the fragrance of her flowers.

  The ceremony was tranquil. Deservedly peaceful. Every word, every proclamation of love and affirmation exchanged, dripped with dulcet sincerity. This was the happy end they had yearned for so deeply; the new beginning they had dreamed of. And it was all sealed with a kiss.

A chaste peck that was led by Fakir met with much exuberance from Ahiru. Fakir’s hands had ghosted over her round, freckled cheeks. She had held onto his waist, she was up on tip-toes so he wouldn’t have to lean down so much; being a somewhat lanky man, after all.

  It could not have been a more perfect wedding.

  Their darling friends scattered petals and rice over their teary-eyed faces as they walked, together, down the aisle. Their arms linked; much like their forever connected hearts. The wedding bells chimed: silver and clear. A proclamation to all the town that Fakir and Ahiru were very much in love and very much inclined to stay that way.


	2. Day 2 - Motif

  Autor sighed, removed his glasses then placed them back on his head. These movements were extraneous. He knew that. Fakir most certainly knew that. That is why Autor did it. He liked to make Fakir nervous. He relished in it, even. He rubbed his temples and sighed again.

  ‘Could you just hurry up and tell me what you think?’ Fakir demanded, impatient and cheeks reddening.

  The papers that Autor had been handed fluttered as he let them settle on the table. The scent of tea and coffee wafted and paled as time had passed between ordering them and getting down to business. Autor licked his lips and picked up his teacup.

  ‘Patience, dear Fakir.’ Autor said. ‘I’m just savouring your writing, you know, before I completely and utterly pick it apart and tear you down for your own benefit, mind you.’

  ‘What a drama queen.’ Fakir muttered under his breath as he crossed his arms.

  With a delicate chink, Autor set down the teacup on a coaster.

  ‘It is in my academic opinion,’ he began, ‘that you are a talented writer, in your own name - not just in Drosselmeyer’s.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Fakir nodded.

  ‘However,’ Autor continued pointedly, ‘I do have a concern. You are a touch bit… repetitive. Always the same formula, always a happy ending… even if it isn’t thematically pleasing; outside of that, you always pull it off.’

  ‘I’m not ever going to give my characters a tragic ending. I’m not like him.’ Fakir said.

  ‘That’s not where I was going with this.’ Autor replied.

  ‘It’s not?’ Fakir asked.

  ‘Nope, not at all.’ Autor said. He paused, mused. ‘Duck feathers and hope, scarlet jewels and burning embers… Mind you, three of those things are quite pretty, perhaps even overdone by other authors but duck feathers… really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’ Fakir seethed.

  ‘How long has it been, do you mind me asking?’ Autor asked; his voice dipped into sympathy which was not a tone Autor was well acquainted with but nevertheless, one he applied to the conversation anyway.

  Fakir’s hands were on the table. He trembled; his knuckles turned white. He swallowed.

  ‘A month.’ Fakir licked his lips and there were pinpricks of tears in his eyes. ‘It has been a month since she passed away.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s time? You’ve memorialised her memory the best you could in the ten years - that’s two more years than anyone expected! - that you had her as your companion, so, don’t you think it's time to move on? Find a new muse?’

  Fakir’s heart pounded. He did not have a reply for Autor as his heart, his most precious memories, were dancing at the bottom of a lake wherein all his despair was free to swirl in foaming crests.


	3. Day 3 - Flight

  Ahiru sat, wide-eyed, with her knees beneath her chin and her elbows on her knees. A nice, beachside wind tickled her nose; scattered scant sea salt before her eyes. She hummed.

  ‘So this… machine of yours, Fakir… it’ll really fly?’ she asked.

  ‘By my calculations it should… But not as good as you, Ahiru.’ Fakir replied, a tad shy as he wiped his brow; only to spread grease in the wake of the sweat he had pushed aside with the back of his dirty hand.

  ‘Thanks Fakir. Hearing that from you means a lot. I’m not good a lot of witch things but at least have flying… at least until you perfect your machine. And I know you will, Fakir! You’re quick smart, after all!’ Ahiru prattled.

  Fakir smiled slightly; just a twinge of his lips but Ahiru saw it and knew what it meant.

  ‘Thanks Ahiru.’ he replied in a quiet voice before getting back to work.

  If it were anyone else, Ahiru would find watching the mechanics of machinery to be quite boring but because it was Fakir, it was interesting. She’s not sure if he knows but he tends to talk under his breath and he doesn’t even talk about how the nuts and bolts ought to fit together on that rod. No, he talks of fairy tales and stories. It’s really quite adorable - and amusing. Fakir has a brilliant mind after all. 

  He’s so sharp and intelligent all whilst keeping this adorable creative side to himself. It’s a shame really. Though, it ought to be noted it was the fantastical creative side that he kept to himself; his little muttered stories. After all, right now, Fakir was inadvertently flaunting how good with machines and his hands he was; in a masculine way rather than in the cutesy way he tells himself stories under his breath.

  Ahiru keeps her ears and sharp and then she hears it: the “and they all lived happily ever after” thus ending another fabulous story. With a whistle, Fakir slides himself out from underneath his machine. He grins.

  ‘It’s ready.’ he announces.

  ‘Wait, really?!’ 

  Ahiru can’t help but get to her feet in a flurry. 

  ‘Yep… do you want to try it with me? Obviously it won’t be good as flying on a broom but, maybe, it could be fun. To do. Together.’ Fakir replied awkwardly.

  ‘I’d love to!’ Ahiru replied as she leapt at him into a hug. She gripped on tight with bright eyes. ‘C’mon, c’mon, show me how it’s done.’

  ‘I’m not showing you anything.’ Fakir said as he pushed her off. ‘You’ll probably mess up all the buttons. No wonder you can only fly broomsticks.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Ahiru replied.

  Fakir took the front seat of his modified bicycle and Ahiru slotted in close behind him. From behind his back, it was true that she couldn’t see a thing. She nuzzled in close though. At least his back was clean; unlike his grubby front and face. He was warm. Warmer than she expected.

  Fakir huffed as he wheeled out of parking. The breaks slapped back and both were wobbly.

  ‘Hold on tight.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me that twice, dummy. That’s flying one-oh-one.’

  ‘Alright, well, welcome to flying two-oh-one because this is going to be very different to what you’re used to.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  Fakir pushed off and already both his and Ahiru’s heart raced. But neither could be certain as to why. It could be because of the adrenaline: the flight the likes the which the world had never seen before.

  Or…

  Or possibly, it could be because they were together like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw yeah, Kiki's Delievery Service AU


	4. Day 4 - Memory

  As light erupted from beneath her feathers in gentle, golden-coloured slats, she grew. She changed. She transformed. In an elegant twirl of her wings, they became arms. A spin upon her claws turned them to toes as she shot up. It was swift and there was no pain, no hideous bits flying up and out as the promise broke.

  The light faded and left her eyes dulls. Nevertheless, they remained a magnificent shade of blue. Azure like the sky, azure like the sea: gorgeous. She was awkward, nervous at first. She moved her news arm like they were tied to strings and she was beneath a marionette’s cross.

  He smiled. Laughed. Cried. He drew in closer.

  ‘Ahiru…’ he murmured as his arms crossed her back.

  ‘Fakir…’ she murmured in return.

  His grasp on her tightened. Both were cold. So, so, cold.

  But something wasn’t right. Fakir could sense it emanating from every part of Ahiru’s being. This was not the Ahiru he remembered. This was the Ahiru he had falsified from romanticised memories.

  Oh, what cruel mistake to break his promise to her. To resurrect her humanity for the sake of his selfishness. However, Fakir would abide by it even though he knew the girl in his arms, the beloved girl in his arms, was not fated to be… quite right.

  He could feel it on her soft skin; her bare, nude skin. He could feel it in her breath that evoked a graveyard breeze and see it in her eyes; faded as fog and without humanity. Ahiru was not quite right.

  Wrong.

  He would abide by this monstrosity he had brought upon his life by destroying hers. It is for the best, Fakir lied.


	5. Day 5 - Storm

  Fakir opened the curtains. At the bottom, they bristled and fluttered as he tied them up. Sunlight gently streamed in. He opened the window and was met with the smell of morning after a storm. He enjoyed the scent. It was a touch cool out but it was such a lovely sky this morning. After yesterday’s foul weather, it would be a sin to waste today. Not to mention that all the fish will be lively after the worst of the storm, they always were. He half turned to the man-made nest opposite the wall.

  ‘Good morning, Ahiru.’ he said.

  ‘Quack!’ she honked back, a tad sleepy sounding. She fluttered her wings in haste, as though to say it was too early to be up like this on a Sunday.

  ‘How does fishing sound? I’ll give you so bait if you like. If you want a snack at all, that is.’

  Ahiru tilted her head. Her eyes closed slightly.

  ‘Ah, you’d rather sleep.’ Fakir put his hands on his hips. ‘Well, you can do that down by the pier, if you really must. Plenty of reeds down there and I’m sure the local ducks won’t mind if you nap in one of their nests.’

  ‘Quack!’ Ahiru snapped.

  ‘Hm, that is true, humans wouldn’t do that either for someone they didn’t know or trust. But they do know you… You’re just not… liked.’

  ‘Quack…’

  ‘It’s because you smell like me, I believe. Ah well, come on, let’s get our things ready for a picnic. I feel like today, inspiration will strike and it will be a most lovely prose as a result. After all, in weather like this and with you by my side, I’ll always be satisfied.’

  Fakir stretched. He smiled. Ahiru wearily got to her webbed feet and shook out her feathers. Today was going to be a good day.


	6. Day 6 - Storm

****    This was something of a change of music for our protagonists. From soft ballet to something… a little more hard as rock.

  Fakir stared dumbly. That’s all he could do, really, in this situation. He supposed it makes sense. Given the rest of his life and the circumstances which had brought him to this current situation, he supposed that this could make sense.

  The little, yellow bird with big blue eyes in front of him twirled on her webbed toes and from that duck form, she became human. A very naked and freckled human who was stick thin with strawberry blonde hair whom he knew as something of an enemy to his goals but a human nonetheless.

  ‘I summon my Stand, PRINCESS TUTU.’ Ahiru announced and from her body, an elegant vision of her soul protruded from within her.

  PRINCESS TUTU was a humanoid Stand with translucent skin and seemed to wear clothes. It was hard to tell with Stands. Either way, some sort of tule-like fabric was draped over it in effervescent and glittery decals; akin to something a ballerina would wear. It was a gorgeous vision. Somewhat thin in arms and legs; very long legs. It had alien, unearthly eyes that bore into Fakir as though it could see his soul.

  Ahiru lifted her hand and her Stand accepted it with a gracious bow. Ahiru was tugged along into a dance and her Stand warped. Ahiru almost transformed into a completely different person; it was like her Stand was superimposed onto her own body but Fakir could see it; where the illusion didn’t match the reality. He could see echoes of yellow feathers in Ahiru’s movements and sometimes, it would appear as though she had three sets of eyes down her face. It was only for a moment.

  At least she was no longer naked, he consolidated herself. He breathed deep.

  ‘Stand Users are attracted to each other, being a duck, this must be very new to you.’ Fakir explained.

  ‘I honestly thought it was magic… Does that mean… Mytho, is he…? A Stand User?’ Ahiru asked.

  ‘No but he can see Stands. I think he might’ve once but…’ Fakir muttered. 

  ‘What about Rue?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s a Stand User too. I’ve never seen her summon hers, though. I think it might be the type which can be seen by anyone.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So, using PRINCESS TUTU what are you capable of? Whether I like it or not, we seem to be bound to each other and we have the same goal.’

  ‘PRINCESS TUTU allows me to take human form and I can use her ghostliness to enhance my dancing and from that, I am able to influence people’s emotions.’ Ahiru smiled and she extended her hand to Fakir but Fair could see PRINCESS TUTU’s hand glove Ahriu’s and her spectrality was unnerving.

  ‘No thanks. I don’t particularly want you messing with my head.’

  ‘That’s okay… Oh, can I see your Stand now too?’ Ahiru asked, a touch excited. She bounced on her toes, the pond around her rippling.

  ‘My Stand isn’t too interesting.’ Fakir replied, unable to meet Ahiru’s eyes.

  ‘I think they’re fascinating. Please, you said it yourself, we have the same goal and we’re bound to each other. I explained my abilities, it’s only fair I know yours.’ Ahiru huffed.

  ‘Fine.’ Fakir took a breath. ‘LOHENGRIN!’

  Fakir raised his hand and a sword manifested in his hand. It was a gorgeous sword of silver with swan-like detailing on the hilt. He wielded it smoothly and in the wake, it rustled like the pages of a book.

  ‘Anyone struck by my sword will bleed ink, their skin will turn to paper. Repeated strikings and it’s not a very pretty death.’ Fakir replied.

  ‘...Wow.’ Ahiru said, slightly chilled to the bone. ‘I hope, we are able to fight well together though.’

  ‘A failure knight and a failure princess… I think we’ll get along just fine so long as you keep out of my way.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 「PRINCESS TUTU」  
> Destructive Power: D  
> Speed: A  
> Range: B  
> Durability: B  
> Precision: A  
> Developmental Potential: A
> 
> 「LOHENGRIN」  
> Destructive Power: A  
> Speed: C  
> Range: E  
> Durability: A  
> Precision: A  
> Developmental Potential: C
> 
> Also, Rue's Stand is a wearable Stand that is basically her Princess Kraehe dress and I'm not too certain about what Mytho's Stand was.


	7. Day 7 - Story

  Death is only the end of the story if you assume the story is about you hence why dead men tell no tales; they believe their tale has finished. Perhaps that is why Fakir does not feel the overt need to pen his own life but rather the memorial of emotions he had once felt. The fakir that was once a knight is all but dead; only memories half brought back by wistfulness and nostalgia.

  But, with the ghost of Drosselmeyer, his death was only the beginning. With his spectral form now banished and wandering. By the hope that he never finds a pen once more, it is time for a soft epilogue; a well-deserved ending after his torment.

  The contentment Fakir finds in his story is odd. Unusual. He doesn’t mind. Perhaps the role of the eccentric writer was the one he was supposed to find once he hung up his sword. Perhaps the role of an odd little duck with eyes a touch too human is all Ahiru was ever supposed to be. It’s hard, some days, looking into her eyes for Fakir remembers there is a reason why they sparkle with a little bit too much intelligence and sentience. Inside that small form of hers, that small feathered form was a human once; and a princess and a heroine and a vessel of love and life.

  It’s fine.

  They’re not characters in a story anymore therefore, Fakir shouldn’t dwell. He shouldn’t think himself and her in terms of roles. They are just them. Fakir. Ahiru. For life goes on, one day at a time.

  One page at a time. The world continues to spin; the sun rises in the morning and heralds a new day, a new memory to make and a new breath to take. There is a new moment to enjoy and enjoy it Fakir shall. With Ahiru, tiny and vulnerable but content, by his side then Fakir can find peace. He can enjoy the soft epilogue left in the wake of Drosselmeyer’s tragedies for he has hope that things can become beautiful once more, even when coloured with despair… there always will be hope.


End file.
